“You know better,” rudely interrupted the lad.  “Racketing about all over the country, and coming home late at night.  You’d best not speak of other folks!”

As a matter of fact, Herbert had never been later than was required by a walk home from a dinner, or a very moderate cricket supper; and his conscience was clear as to the quality of his amusements; but instead of, as hitherto, speaking as youth to youth, he used the language of the minister to the insulting parishioner.  “I am sorry I have disturbed Mrs. Hornblower, but the case is not parallel.  Innocent amusement is one thing—­it is quite another to run into haunts that have already proved dangerous to your principles.”

Harry Hornblower laughed.  “It’s no go coming the parson over me, Mr. Bowater!  It’s well known what black coats are, and how they never cry out so loud upon other folks as when they’ve had a jolly lark among themselves.  No concealment now, we’re up to a thing or two, and parsons, and capitalists, and squires will have to look sharp.”

This oration, smacking of ‘The Three Pigeons,’ was delivered so loud as to bring the mother on the scene.  “O, Harry, Harry, you aren’t never speaking like that to Mr. Bowater!”

“When folks jaw me about what’s nothing to them I always give them as good as they bring.  That’s my principle,” said Harry, flinging out of the house, while the curate tried to console the weeping mother, and soon after betook himself to his Rector with no mild comments on the lad’s insolence.

“Another warning how needful it is for us to avoid all occasion for misconstruction,” said Julius.

“We do, all of us,” said Herbert.  “Even that wretched decoction, Fuller, and that mere dictionary, Driver, never gave cause for imputations like these.  What has the fellow got hold of?”

“Stories of the last century ‘two-bottle men,’” said Julius, “trumped up by unionists now against us in these days.  The truth is that the world triumphs and boasts whenever it catches the ministry on its own ground.  Its ideal is as exacting as the saintly one.”

“I say Rector,” exclaimed the curate, after due pause, “you’ll be at Evensong on Saturday?  The ladies at Sirenwood want me to go to Backsworth with them to hear the band.”

“Cannot young Strangeways take care of his sisters?”

“I would not ask it, sir, but they have set their heart on seeing Rood House, and want me to go with them because of knowing Dr. Easterby.  Then I’m to dine with them, and that’s the very last of it for me.  There’s no more croquet after this week.”

“I am thankful to hear it,” said Julius, suppressing his distaste that the man he most reverenced, and the place which was his haven of rest, should be a mere lion for Bee and Conny, a slight pastime before the regimental band!

CHAPTER XXIII The Apple of Ate